


The Time's Come

by blackwoodjosh



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: ??? angsty, M/M, North Yankton, Prologue, Trikey - Freeform, and sad, and the to trevor's, im dead inside, it goes from Michael's pov first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3961009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwoodjosh/pseuds/blackwoodjosh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 2004 heist actually works- Trevor's got a bullet buried in him, bleeding out, while Michael is left to decide if this is what he really wanted. A life where he escapes the game and the heists and the life with his normal, ordinary family. A life without Trevor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Torn and Frayed

**Author's Note:**

> I could not stop thinking about this story idea and here we are,,, i've done it. Get ready to have some feelings.

Michael swallows thickly and leads his group forward, a gun head steadily in his hands despite the fact that in a few moments, Trevor is going to be put down. This is it, this is the way out that he needs so Michael can return to his family and live in Los Santos. The kids will never remember Trevor; they’ll go on and have a nice, normal family. No one will question the obscene amount of money in his bank account and Michael will never go back into the game. Normal. He catches a glimpse of Dave up ahead and flicks his gaze over to Trevor, their eyes locking briefly, a small smile plastered onto his face.

A shot rings out nearby.

Despite its familiar, booming cry he’s gotten all-too used to hearing, Michael flinches all the same. He can’t look anywhere but the ground crunching underneath his trembling feet. Trevor gives out one small, pathetic noise and falls backgrounds onto the snowy ground. Something tightens in his chest, and his stomach becomes slippery. Michael can’t breath- he feels like he’s about to be sick.

A second bullet rips through the air and slams into Michael’s vest, but he barely feels it; his eyes are stuck back on T when he too falls down. There’s then Brad’s inevitable shock as he rushes over and starts frantically trying in vain to save his fallen mentors. The roar of police cars in the near distance startles him, and at once he rushes away to find cover.

Michael has hurt, lied, stole, killed, and ruined the lives of many, many people, but looking at Trevor, he just _breaks_ ; tears streaming down both their faces. He stretches out a shaking hand and brushes their fingers together for the last time. Trevor’s labored breathing is something more of a cry now; his eyes slip closed. Once, twice. Through the yelling and the gunfire and the cop’s sirens, Michael hears his best friend’s final words.

“I love you, Mikey.” he whispers gently.

Michael’s breath hitches and he struggles to keep his dwindling composure. There are so many things he wants to tell Trevor. He wants to tell him that he’s incomparable, that he means so much more to him than just a running buddy; that he’s someone that Michael wants to tell stories about to anyone who will listen. There will never, ever, be someone as irreplaceable and important to Michael as Trevor Philips is. He takes a breath and barely has the chance to think about his next words.

“I-I love you too, Trevor.” Michael says honestly, his throat as dry as sandpaper.

Trevor smiles one last, beautiful smile, and his cloudy eyes close. They don’t open again.

Michael wants to scream. He wants to get up from this shit and let the police arrest him- kill him. Something other than the torture he feels of losing his best _fucking_ friend, his partner. His hand rests on Trevor’s blank face, cradling his cold jaw. Michael’s supposed to play dead, play the role of a person who isn’t about to shoot himself with his own gun so he can be with his dead friend. He wants to be dead, each and every single part of him screaming out.

It’s not until Brad’s been arrested and the howling of police sirens start to dissipate is when Michael realizes that he’s full out sobbing into the frozen ground. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. He _is_ breathing; he’s fucking alive and sprawled across the ground in a pool of Trevor’s own blood, and he wishes to be put into the ground more than ever.

There’s just static now, the background noises bleeding out until there’s just white noise in their place. Michael is still breathing somehow, but really, he’s dead too. It hurts. It hurts so much. All those years of love in the form of dirty motel rooms and dark nights spent twisted together in some bar are gone. All that time spent wasted on his family, on the game; everything other than T. He loves Amanda, but he _loves_ Trevor.

It was always Trevor.


	2. Let It Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bullet goes straight through him, but Trevor can't even feel it. He's just so cold- everything is so cold. Michael comes crashing down next to him, a bullet in him too, and that's when he finally feels the gunshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what??? Don't even think about this entire story when you're done. This doesn't even exist. I don't exist. Trikey is deleted from this world. Also Trevor is so precious,,

Trevor feels fucking great. They’ve just pulled off the biggest heist of their entire lives and they’ve gotten away with nothing more than a crashed car. He feels on fire; practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with adrenaline. Michael’s face grabs his attention from his victory. He’s smiling, but a somber expression briefly crosses his face. Trevor will have to tell him to not be so melodramatic after they get to the chopper.

Nonetheless, he grins manically back, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he walks with his group. _Boom._ A gunshot blasts near him, and Trevor scans the area. Wait. A foreign burn courses through him, and he clutches his chest as he falls to the ground.

Mikey?

Michael’s eyes are red and watering over, and Trevor wants to reach for him. The pain is unbearable, and Trevor realizes that he’s going to die. Another gunshot. Michael crumbles to the ground next to him. Hot, sickly red blood covers T’s icy fingers, and he feels Michael brush them against his own. He feels the familiar, irrational anger pulsing through his veins. He wants to kill whoever dare shoot Michael. Tear them limb from limb, torture them, and just when they think they’re dead….

The world is turning into shades of black and white and any other color he’s never seen before, his anger slowly fading away.

He struggles to even open his eyes.

His chest is heaving, and when he pulls his hand away from it, its sticky with his blood. He groans painfully and notices that Michael’s eyes haven’t left his. Brad is shouting curses at the officers shooting at him, pausing for only a moment to watch as Trevor writhes around pathetically next to Michael. Trevor’s breathing is heavily lumbered, it coming in quick gasps of air as Trevor struggles to remain conscious. He hates to let Michael see him like this; shame and desperation filling his chest. He musters up the last ounce of strength he has and grits his teeth.

“I love you, Mikey.” Trevor wants to yell it for the whole world to witness, but instead it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

If he’s about to die, he’s glad that Michael is with him. He always did say that he’d rather be thrown from this world in a blaze of glory with him rather than anything else. But this isn’t glorious; coughing up blood and scrambling to control his burning nerves isn’t glorious. He’s going to die under the North Yankton’s graying sky and a blanket of snow.

“I-I love you too, Trevor.” Michael responds weakly, pain flitting across his tear-stained face.

With those words, Trevor’s tired bones warm up the smallest bit. He’s wanted to hear those words since he first met Michael on that runway decades back. He was a scrawny, terrified kid with no one there for him and now, it feels just the same. He smiles softly at Michael’s words anyways, and shuts his eyes. In his last moments, he doesn’t think of Amanda or Ryan or even Michael. He thinks of his beautiful mother, and how she’ll feel never getting to see her devoted son every again. He mulls over if she’s ever been proud of him.

 He hears Michael’s distant crying over the shouting and the booming gunshots and wonders if Tracy and Jimmy will be okay without their father and Uncle T. The snow is seeping, freezing and slushy, into his bones. Maybe one day, somewhere out there in this world they robbed blind, there will be movies about him and the great Michael Townley. Then he’s just gone.


End file.
